Vic Daniel 6 - As she rides by

and such, then I get it back Friday with the necessary paperwork. But then it’s got to be dropped off at Mel’s for him to look over, and then he has to do his paperwork, and then back it all comes to me. Now, if I were the owner of the Pussycat Co., and some weirdo phoned me up and invited me to a meeting of parties interested in preventing the expansion of my empire, would I attend, or say a naughty word, then hang up? Who knows? But I would assuredly attend if I’d already been served with a restraining order of some kind, or at least had been notified that such an order was being applied for, and why. Which was a nuisance, is what it was, because it meant even more time elapsing before I could hold the muster.
    Let’s see... even if I got the stuff to Mel Friday sometime, maybe he’d want the weekend off; he is more or less normal, despite his profession. So that brings us up to Monday or Tuesday next week already and then there’s the copying and mailing... how long does a registered letter take to get across town? Again, who knows? Hell. It looked like the earliest I could get moving would be like a week Friday. Drat.
    Right then my machinations were interrupted by the ringing of my phone, and, simultaneously, a sort of scratching noise coming from the door. It was Injun Joe at the door; I beckoned him to enter. It was King on the phone. He panted for a bit, then Evonne’s voice said, “Hi, sweetie. That was King.”
    “What does he want?”
    “Just saying hello, like me.”
    “Darn nice of you both,” I said. Joe was hovering uncertainly just inside the door, so I pointed to the spare chair across the desk from me and told him, “Sit. Stay.” He sat.
    “Oh,” she said. “I nearly forgot. You know that bone thing John gave me to give to you? King ate it.”
    “Ha ha,” I said. “Talking about eating, want to cook supper tonight for a veritable dreamboat?”
    “Sure,” she said promptly. “Know one?” We settled on sevenish, at her place, and rang off.
    “That was my dog,” I said to Joe. “He says hello.”
    “Oh yeah?” he said, giving himself a good scratch under one arm. “How do he dial, chief?”
    “He gets a friend to do it for him,” I said.
    “Oh, yeah?” he said. “And how do he dial?”
    “A person friend,” I said. “Not a dog friend.”
    “Oh,” he said, nodding. “Now I’m wit’cha. So what’s up, chief? I got word you was looking for me.”
    “That I was, Joe,” I said. “Listen, want to make some money and have a few laughs at the same time?”
    “Chief, who don’t,” he said. “Doin’ what?”
    I told him what. During the recital he grinned twice, picked something out of his hair once, and once he took a stone out of a pocket, looked at it, then put it away again.
    When I was done, he said, “Yeah, but doing what in particular? Like, as far as I’m concerned with.”
    “Joe, all you have to do is sit there looking like an Indian,” I said. “Noble. Impassive. Serene.”
    “Sit where?” he said.
    “Right there,” I said. “Right where you are sitting now.”
    “Oh,” he said. “Do I gotta say anything?”
    “No,” I said. “You do not gotta. You gotta mouthpiece who will do all the talking for you.”
    “Oh,” he said. “What about noises?”
    “What kind of noises?”
    “You know”, he said. “Indian noises. Like grunts and things. Like they do in the movies. Uuuungh!” he grunted. “Keemumbe!”
    “Joe,” I said, “forget the noises. Just sit there and get rich. Well, richer, anyway.”
    “An’ look like an Indian,” he said. “How’m I gonna do that, chief?” Here he looked at me suspiciously. “I don’t gotta sit there naked, do I, all painted red?”
    “No, Joe,” I said. “You gotta sit there in brand-new Levi’s with a Levi jacket and maybe a belt with a fancy buckle and maybe a leather headband or something or maybe even a new Stetson hat.”
    “Oh,” he said. “I got ‘cha.” There was a pause. Then he said, “How about a pair of new boots? I sure could use ‘em.”
    “No,” I said firmly. “Indians wear moccasins, anyway, everyone knows that.”
    “Oh,” he said. “OK, then, moccasins it is, chief.” He looked innocently across at me.
    “Now what, you chiseler?” I said with a sigh. “You want a tepee too? How about a couple of pinto ponies while you’re at it?”
    “Ah, come on, chief,” he mumbled. “I was just thinkin’ maybe a shirt is all.”
    “One shirt,” I said.